Contradictions
by hebinek0
Summary: AU in which Sanji is a photographer and Zoro is his muse. Based off of kougamishinyas' amazing fanart on tumblr.


Sanji loved beautiful things. He always had. He loved the sound of ocean waves and their cobalt hues. He loved gentle flowers and the fragility of their petals in the breeze. He loved the sense of slow motion when he watched small, gentle snowflakes fall from the white, ghastly sky and he loved ballroom dancing in classy attire. But he also loved contradiction. He was infatuated with the fierce crashing of dark waves in a storm. He was drawn to the bold side of nature with brilliant pigmented flowers with thorns and poison. He cherished the fierce excitement that snowstorms, wind, and hail brought and savage brutality was his weakness. And that's exactly why he was where he was that Friday night: A fight club.

Sanji POV

I knew I shouldn't have come here, but my feet acted on their own. I was supposed to be on a train to the country in search of something beautiful for next month's issue, and by beautiful, I mean graceful; gentle. The deadline is coming up and need photos soon, but every Friday night, I find myself in the same spot, watching the same man. He's definitely not gentle, and many would think of him as the opposite of grace, but that's false judgement. I've watched him fight many times and there's theory in his punch and grace in his step. Beneath his scars is peace and in his hard skull lies thought. I know it because after every victory, his scowl becomes a smile brighter than the sun. Though the moss he has for hair is probably the ugliest thing I've seen, but hey, contradiction.

Okay, some may call it stalking, but I call it art. I find something beautiful and I admire it until I capture it. So far all of my achievements lie in the first category, but tonight, I'm finally going through. I'll talk to him and I'll convince him to be my muse.

He was on his third match for the night and though he'd won both his previous ones and was most likely going to win his current one, he was looking bloody and tired. He did pull through though, and after the match, he was declared the winner and went to collect his winnings. He always went home, or wherever he went, right after this without cleaning his wounds or anything. It's as if his body heals completely on its own without help. Or maybe he was just stupid. Scientifically speaking, probably the latter. I watched his mossy hair as he wandered toward the door where I stood. He must have noticed how out of place I looked compared to the other people in the building (my tan sweater and black slacks were slightly different from the bloody, shirtless men roaming the room) because his dark eyes met mine for a second before he looked away and reached for the door. I stuck my arm out in front of the door, earning a raised eyebrow from him.

"Could I get through?" he asked me in a low voice.

I held up my camera in front of my mouth and replied, "Can you?"

He let out a growl and stepped forward, pushing my arm out of the way, but I quickly stepped to the side, in front of the door so he couldn't escape. "I'll do you a favor and move if you do me a favor."

He gave me a strange look that was to be expected before asking his highly thought out question, "The hell?"

I raised the camera from in front of my mouth to in front of my eyes and snapped a picture, making him stumble back. He brought his hand up and rubbed his eyes as a natural reaction from the flash before asking rather loudly, "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Capturing beauty."

He furrowed his brows and opened his mouth like he wanted to say something but couldn't think of the words. "Wha...?"

"I'm a photographer for Baratie magazine. A segment for our next issue is beauty," I answered.

"So you want a picture of a random guy covered in blood..?" he asked sarcastically, which kind of pissed me off.

"First of all," I started, raising a finger in his face, "you aren't a random guy. I've been watching you for weeks."

That could have been worded better.

He frowned a bit but I continued, "Secondly, this isn't the picture I'm going to use for the magazine. This is for me. I want you to come to my place and get cleaned up, and then I will take your picture."

He still didn't look convinced, not that I really expected him too. Though I've watched him for weeks, _months,_ he didn't meet me until two minutes ago.

"I'm tired and you expect me to go to your house so you can take pictures of me for some stupid magazine? I don't even know you! Now move so I can go home and eat," he said, trying to shove past me. But though I don't look it, I'm strong enough to hold myself firm.

"I'm also a chef. I'll make you dinner."

"What the fuck? How do I know you won't poison me?" he asked, his frown growing bigger.

"Why the hell would I poison you? I don't want to have to take pictures of a dead man again," I scowled back.

"Again? What? Look, just… nevermind. I don't want to hurt you, well actually, I kind of do, bu-"

"I'll clean your wounds," I offered. I really hoped he'd cave soon. I thought he'd be sold with dinner.

"NO, okay?!" he growled. I looked around slowly. People were staring. He must have noticed to because he calmed down.

"Let's talk outside," he said in a slow growl, which was actually frustratingly attractive.

"Sure.."

To my delightful surprise, he didn't ditch me, nor throw me against the brick wall and start beating me unconscious. Instead, he asked me a question. "Why do you want to take pictures of me so bad? There are plenty of better models…"

I glared at him, making him quiet down. "Why do you think I've come here every Friday for the past three months? It's to watch you fight. Why? For the same reason you fight! I _like_ to," I snapped. I was getting kind of pissed he thought I could just take pictures of fucking anyone. Does he not understand photography? Actually, he probably doesn't which isn't actually his fault. But still. "I can't just take pictures of anyone. Once I find someone I want pictures of, _I get the damn pictures_." I was huffing now, and had gotten much closer. So close, I actually saw the slight blush on his shocked face. Though it was quickly replaced with his stoic expression again. Somehow, his face seemed softer now, even with the scar he had slashed through his left eye.

"I…" he started.

I smiled softly. I had him now. "So you see-"

"I still refuse."

What

"Wait, what?" What the hell? What's it going to take to get him to come home with me? Sex appeal?

I turned and shoved him against the wall.

"Eugh! What the he…"

He stopped talking as I leaned forward and whispered in his ear as seductively as possible, "Please? I need you…" I felt his body tense up and he looked down at me, his red cheeks visible even under the night sky.

He looked like he was internally arguing with himself for a minute before he groaned. "Oh fuck it."

I grinned widely as I grabbed his arm and led him to my car.

I set my keys on their hook by the door and looked up to see him looking around.

"Nice place you got," was all he said. He looked uncomfortable, like he didn't know what to do. I reached into my pocket for a cigarette and lit it before leading him to the bathroom.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

He followed me into the bright room and sat on the black marble tub. He pulled off the shirt he had put on after his last match, revealing several bruises. I got out the first aid box and sat down next to him, one foot in the tub, the other on the rug. He turned so he was facing me and doing the same thing and we sat like that in silence for a bit as I cleaned his wounds. Eventually, we went back to the dim light of the high ceilinged living room and sat down on the couch.

"So uh, is there like, something you want me to wear or something?" he asked.

"I liked what you were wearing during your matches," I answered, leaning my head back and blowing a ring of smoke into the air.

"That wasn't really anything."

"Yeah…" I smiled and closed my eyes as I remembered how he looked, shirtless in tight shorts…

I blew out more smoke.

"You could lose the shorts though," I added with a smirk.

He grinned back. "Damn Curlybrows, I didn't take you as a pervert."

That son of a b-

"Anyways, I'm cool with losing the shirt but I don't do nudes," he added as he took his shirt off once again, his muscles stretching as he raised his arms. Damn. "Like what you see?" he asked with a cocky laugh.

"Didn't I already tell you that?" I replied. "Come with me, I have a studio upstairs we'll use."

"You have a studio in your house? Why?" he asked.

"In case late night things like this happen," I answered, turning back and winking at him.

He didn't say another word as we went up the winding stairs to the studio. The only things in it are things to adjust lighting and a dark leather couch on a dark woven rug. I opened the door for him and he walked in and looked around.

"Hey," he suddenly said, turning to face me.

"What?"

"I never got your name."

I paused. I never gave him my name? Really? "Sanji."

"Hm. Zoro."

"I know," I replied.

He raised an eyebrow. "Have you been stalking me?"

I rolled my eyes. "They say your name every time you win a match, dumbass."

"You still stalk me though," he said with his same stupid grin.

"Shut up, Marimo. Go sit on the couch."

"That's a new one…" he mumbled as sat down. "So I've… never modeled, so… I don't-"

"It's just me. There's nothing to be nervous about. Just do what feels natural. It's just me," I replied.

He relaxed a little and leaned his head back and stretched his arms across the top of the back cushion. I took pictures of his tan neck and collarbones. I moved around to the side of the couch and put my knee up to rest on the cushion as I leaned forward and took pictures of the scar running down his chest. I zoomed in on his left ear and took close ups of the three golden earrings dangling from it. I looked up to his face. The cold frown from earlier was gone. His eyebrows weren't furrowed in a grin. His expression was… relaxed. He looked so much younger and gentle. Huh. Maybe gentleness and gracefulness did define beauty after all. I zoomed up on his left eye, the one with the scar running through it. Funny how something so impure could be so beautiful. His lashes were dark and long and his eyelid was dark and hooded and his eyebrows were relaxed. I could stare at his eyes for hours, open or not. I took several pictures of his eyes then moved onto his nose and then his lips. There was a small cut in the corner of his bottom one but they were still elegant. They were perfectly shaped and the perfect size and looked ruff and… well, kissable. He parted his lips slightly so I quickly took another carefully shot picture. I stubbed my cigarette out on an ash tray on the ground and lit another. I was sweating. It took extreme patience and carefulness to get a perfect shot. Sometimes I would sit (I was actually kind of perching, the weird way I was sitting) for 15 minutes in focus, trying to get the shot perfect. But this was nothing new to me. If anything, I felt a little bad for Zoro. He was starting to squirm from being still for so long.

"Just a little longer, Marimo. I'm almost done," I told him, just above a whisper.

He let out a tired sigh as a response and shifted his position. I took several pictures of his hands. I had him try different positions with them until I was satisfied with a few of them. I took some of his feet and some of his back. I had him lie on his stomach with his face hidden in his crossed forearms and took pictures of lying down. I took shots of him standing up and shots of him sitting on the floor. I went through almost the rest of my pack of cigarettes. After a few (for Zoro, dreadful) long hours, I announced that we were finished.

"That was awful. My back aches now and I'm starving," he groaned.

"Well, I'll pay you later and-"

"I get payed?" he suddenly sounded really interested.

"I mean… yeah.." What kind of question was that? "Anyways, I'll make us dinner. Maybe after that, I'll rub your muscles," I offered generously like the gentleman I am.

"Is there anything you don't do?" Zoro asked.

"Fight club."

He laughed. "Right."

"Yeah, I do taekwondo," I said with a grin as I lit another cigarette. I had one left.

"Seriously?" he didn't sound like he really believed me but I'd kick his ass another time. For now I was as hungry as he was.

"Seriously. Now let's go downstairs. I'll make us dinner," I said as I turned to walk out the door.

"Hey Curlybrows."

Not this again. I turned around to give him a kick in the gut but stopped when he pulled me close to him by the waist. His hands went down to my hips and held me against his warm body as he whispered, "Let's do this again sometime." I felt shivers down my spine and I'm sure he felt me tense up. How embarrassing.

Tsh. Damn sex appeal.


End file.
